


such relief

by goodgriefdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bunker Fic, Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgriefdean/pseuds/goodgriefdean
Summary: Dean and Castiel come together, briefly, in quiet moments, in tense moments, when everything is too much, when everything is too little.





	such relief

**Author's Note:**

> another drabble! i'm cranking 'em out! as always, comment and leave kudos if you enjoy as it would mean the world to me <3
> 
> you can find me [here](https://goodgriefdean.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

_ oh, the feeling when i kissed your mouth _

_ middle of night _

_ such relief. _

 

Dean kisses Castiel for the first time under the fluorescence of a gritty gas station light. They are bruised and bloody, the stench of burning flesh still clinging to their shirts. Sam is inside the store, buying beer and toothpaste.

He doesn’t quite know how it happens— one moment he is leaning against the Impala, waiting for the tank to fill. Cas comes around the car to join him, and then Dean is leaning in, one hand curling into Cas’s coat and the other coming up to cup his jaw, tilting it just right. Cas moves in front of him for a better angle. His mouth is warm.

And then, as quickly as it started, it’s over, and Sam is leaving the store, shooting Dean a confused look as he all but lurches away from Cas. They get in the Impala without a word, but Dean’s eyes drift to Castiel’s in the mirror probably more often than is safe. He can barely fight a smile for a week afterward.

 

Dean kisses Castiel for the second time in a shitty motel outside Rexford, Idaho. There’s a tension between them. It hangs in the air and is solidified by the small bundle of Castiel’s belongings that he places on the far bed.

Dean is fluffing the pillow when he turns to face Castiel, leaning in with a certainty he didn’t know he had. And Castiel kisses him back, hard, his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, keeping him there. Dean can sense his sadness. Confusion. It makes his chest ache.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Dean drops Cas back at the Gas n’ Sip. It feels all wrong. Words rest unsaid on the tip of Dean’s tongue— _come back_ , he longs to say. _Stay._ He doesn’t. He lets the sound of the passenger side door echo in silence. With a tight smile and a wave, he is gone.

 

They come together, briefly, in quiet moments, in tense moments, when everything is too much, when everything is too little. Still, it’s not enough. Dean dreams of blue eyes and wakes up in a cold bed. His phone is always in the corner of his vision; every time it buzzes his heart leaps in his chest. Most of the time it’s not what he’s hoping for.

 

One night in the bunker after a particularly brutal case, Castiel finds his way to Dean’s room. Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Castiel kneels beside him.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says. 

 

“You’re wrong,” Dean replies.

 

“We were out numbered. We had no chance. We couldn’t have saved her.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“I do,” Castiel says, and he reaches for Dean’s hands, pulling them away from his face. Dean’s eyes are sad and tired. Castiel cups his cheek, swiping his thumb along the freckles there, and leans in.

 

Later, at some point in the late night or early morning, as he lies next to Castiel, Dean whispers, “Don’t leave.” 

 

And Castiel doesn’t.


End file.
